


come home

by jhoom



Series: Come Home [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, M/M, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 17:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8498833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/pseuds/jhoom
Summary: The world falls apart on a Tuesday without much fanfare.  Castiel's at home when it happens, Dean's at work, and the two are unlikely to ever see each other ever again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea where this came from but it's been in my head for a couple months now so i figured i'd write it. seriously expected it to be shorter though... 
> 
> so this is kind of (at best) bittersweet, but i do have a dean pov that i'll maybe probably get to at some point...

The world falls apart on a Tuesday without much fanfare.  

Castiel enjoys a cup of tea while reading the morning paper, blissfully unaware until there’s a never ending cacophony of sirens.  He checks the news and watches the broadcasts until all the channels go down.  The radio and internet don’t last much longer before they’re abandoned as people prioritize their own safety over doing their job.

The phone lines are a mess.  He manages to get a call out to Sam, three states over and impossible to get to if half of what the news says is to be believed.  It’s an urgent yet heartfelt good-bye, most likely the last time they will ever speak to each other.  There’s wishes for the other to take care of themselves and their family, a vague promise to try and get into contact when things calm down, and their shared distress that neither has heard from Dean.  

Neither wants to hang up, drawing out the moment as long as possible until abruptly the decision’s made for them as the line goes dead.  Castiel stares numbly at the phone in his hand for a full five minutes before he can will himself to put it down.  

He busies himself securing the house.  Windows first, then the doors.  Then he fills every container he can find with water while its still running.  Hell, he even does a load of laundry and dishes while he can because he suspects its his last chance.  Then he goes through the food and wonders if the Chambers family next door would mind terribly if he raided their pantry (they’re on vacation and he knows where they keep the extra key, but perhaps that should wait until later?).

The whole time, he doesn’t let himself think about Dean.  Dean who went to work this morning and hasn’t returned.  Dean who works a good hour from the house, much too far for Castiel to dare traveling to find him.  Not because he doesn’t want to find his husband, but two very important things keep him rooted to their two story home.

1\. What if Dean is trying to get back home and they miss each other?  If something happens while he’s out looking for Dean, Dean will never forgive himself (nor likely would he ever know what happened).

2\. The young boy still asleep in his room.  There’s no way Castiel can even fathom taking Henry out into the chaos of the world falling apart around them.  Their son’s safety is more important than the gut-wrenching desire to find Dean.

So he stays put and tries not to worry or get his hopes up every time he hears a car drive past.  But soon the cars stop passing by and day turns into night turns into day turns into a week gone by with no word and the silly hope of seeing Dean one last time dies.

\- - - - 

Castiel’s a pragmatic sort of man.  Once it’s confirmed that this is the way of things now, he’s brutally efficient at making their home safe.  

The house itself is easy enough.  The storm door needs nothing, and it takes little work for him to be confident in both the basement and back doors.  That leaves the need for provisions as a top priority.  He puts it off as long as he can, but eventually their dwindling supplies necessitate it.

He tells Henry to stay in his room, then fills it with all the food and juice so that the young boy will have enough to eat should Castiel be delayed.  His gut twists with displeasure when he locks the front door behind him, but this is a thing that needs to be done.  With Dean’s rifle in hand, he raids all the nearby homes for anything useful he can find.  

Luck’s with him on his first five or so excursions.  He comes across no people, undead or otherwise, only a dog that eyes him warily before running away.  All his neighbors homes are abandoned, cars gone and doors unlocked.  Their priorities were clearly different from his own, since they’ve absconded with their valuables and clothing.  Plenty of food and prescriptions remain, and each outing is enough for himself and Henry to survive another month at least.

(Although he tries not to, he can’t help but ration for three people.  It’s impractical, but he simply cannot bring himself to ignore the possibility that Dean will walk through their front door any minute now.)

After that he’s not so lucky.  He rarely sees humans except from afar.  A few times he thinks they see him too, but they keep their distance.  The undead he sees more and more of.  Although he has Dean’s rifle (and he’s a fairly good shot, his husband made sure of that), he hoards the few remaining shells for true emergencies.  The rest of the time he sticks to Henry’s baseball bat or the machete Dean purchased a few years ago on a whim.

(”Why do you need a machete, Dean?”

“For yard work.”

“... Dean.”

“Alright alright, cuz it’s cool okay?  Just lemme buy it please please please.”)

Their lives slowly slip into a new routine.  Time passes, only marked by the seasons and how far Castiel has to roam to scavenge for food, and they begin to forget how things once were.  

Henry gains a year or two, learns how to shoot and protect himself.  He still stays around the house most of the time, playing in the backyard complete with its new ten foot high fence that Castiel spent several months erecting.  Sometimes, though, he accompanies Castiel out and about the neighborhood.

He kills an undead when he’s shy of ten years old.  The boy’s so proud that he jumps up and down in excitement.  Castiel’s not quite sure how to feel about that.

\- - - -

They talk about Dean.  Of course they do.  Castiel doesn’t let their son to forget him, so they often share their favorite stories about him.  Pictures of him are in every room of the house.  At some point, Henry gets his hands on Dean’s leather jacket and wears it all over the place.  

During the day, he’s strong for his son.  But at night, Castiel cries himself to sleep as he envisions all the terrible things that could’ve happened to Dean.

\- - - -

Enough time passes that their clothes are getting threadbare.  Sure, Castiel takes what he can from the houses they rummage through, but it’s difficult to find things that fit himself, never mind is growing son.  (Truth be told, there’s a whole closet full of clothing Castiel could wear.  But those are _Dean’s_  clothes.  Mostly untouched, only a few worn by Cas in low moments when he needs the extra comfort and closeness with his lost husband.  Even now, he can’t bring himself to incorporate them into his wardrobe.)  So he packs up his truck and mentally prepares himself for the drive north.

“Stay inside, lock the door, don’t go-”

“-near the windows, keep the lights off, try to be quiet.  I know, Papa.”  Henry rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.  “Sure I can’t come with you?”

He brings Henry with him more often than not, but never this far and never in this direction.  “No.”  He swallows thickly.  “Do your homework.”

Along with everything else, they’ve amassed quite the library over the past few years.  Castiel’s read it all, and now he’s encouraging Henry to do the same.  

“Fine,” the boy mutters, as though he hasn’t been binge reading his dad’s Vonnegut collection lately.  

Castiel usually takes back roads, but today he opts for the highways.  Most are a crowded mess of forgotten cars, but I-95 is remarkably clear for a good twenty mile stretch.  The fiery crater and twenty car pile-up at the furthest end probably have something to do with that.  He keeps his eyes fixed on the road ahead, only letting himself take in enough of the scenery to note major changes from his last trek this far north.

South, east, west.  He’s gone miles and miles in those directions numerous times.  But never north.  North is terrifying.  Not because it’s any more war torn than the rest of the landscapes, not because it’s any less fruitful for supplies.

Dean worked up north.  

In his heart of hearts, he allows this painful hope that Dean might still be alive.  Going up north runs the risk of him finding something, _anything_  that could disprove that theory.  

But there’s a fabric store close to where Dean worked.  Everything he’ll need to repair or make new clothing is there, and he’ll brave the journey for the sake of his son.

It’s somehow worse that he encounters nothing.  

When he finishes loading the back of the truck, he hears gunshots from the highway.  Gunshots mean people but usually they mean the undead too.  He’s not in a mood to get involved with either, so he takes the side roads he knows well from years of joy rides with Dean.  

There’s a good chance Castiel would’ve missed it, so busy speculating about the gunshots, but there’s nothing in this world yet that could make him forget the look of that chrome beauty.  

The tires screech to a stop and he puts the truck into reverse before parking alongside a familiar friend.  He rushes out of the car, not sure if his eyes are deceiving him but no, that’s definitely her.

A black 67 Impala is stopped on the side of the road.  She’s completely unmarred by the world around her.  No blood smears or broken glass, no chipped paint or muddy wheels.  No signs of age, either, so she wasn’t abandoned at the start of things.  Her presence is a mystery, a further question to cap off the millions he already has.  

His fingers yearn to touch her, so he strokes a hand along the side.  He shivers, thrown into countless memories of the classic car.  He ducks down to peek inside but sees nothing out of the ordinary.  If he didn’t know better, weren’t firmly grounded in when and where and what the world is like, Castiel could easily think he’d slipped back in time two years.  

He can barely choke out the call with his heart beating in his throat, but he does over and over again.  “Dean?  Dean!”  Only when his voice is rough and he sees the dwindling daylight does he give up.  

There’s nothing that could convince him to leave this car behind.  Without a second thought, he unloads the truck and packs everything into the Impala.  He drives his truck onto the shoulder right in front of her and leaves the keys in the ignition after he cuts the engine.  Then he puts a water bottle and a Snickers bar (Dean’s favorite) on the passenger seat.

As he walks back to the Impala, he clutches at he chain around his neck.  The silver chain that holds the two reminders of his husband most dear to him (aside from their son of course), hanging right next to his heart.  His wedding ring and an old car key.

Slipping into the driver’s seat feels like coming home in a way he hasn’t felt in so long it hurts.  His fingers tremble as he slots the key into place and turns.  The engine rumbles to life and a song starts blasting over the old speakers.

 _And if you promised you'd love so completely_  
_And you said you would always be true_  
_You swore that you never would leave me baby_  
_Whatever happened to you?_

Castiel blinks a few times before smiling fondly.  He turns the music up and shifts the car into drive.  As he heads back out onto the road, he drives over the message he’s spray painted in big bold red lettering and hopes the car’s real owner finds it soon.

_COME HOME_

**Author's Note:**

> as always come visit me on [tumblr](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com) \- i promise i don't bite ;)


End file.
